Irretrievable
by amandapoupou
Summary: A doctor who can't fix. A detective who can't detect. Life was never going to be the same, not from the moment they started or the moment they ended. He should have known that.
1. Prologue

When he was young, he had wanted to be a doctor. So when the time came, that's what he did. He joined the military and became what he had wanted. Perhaps what he had liked best what he did was fixing people.

It sounded juvenile, but the ability to make people better pleased him. For some odd reason he'd had a knack for knowing what was wrong and how to fix it quickly. His patients often praised him for his abilities, unknowingly boosting his confidence.

But here and now, he'd lost that particular gift. He hadn't the faintest clue how to fix this; he was fairly sure it never would alright again. He looked down at the glossy black headstone in front of him. His laugh was somewhat strangled and dark.

Funny how the famous Doctor John Watson could fix anyone except the one person who needed it most;

himself.

**A/N: This is the prologue, which is why it's so short. I promise my writing really doesn't suck this much, really. The more reviews I get the more inclined I am to write the chapters so don't be afraid to review! :)**


	2. One

"Sir? Hello, sir?"

John's eyes flew open, freezing momentarily. He relaxed as he took in his surroundings; a cozy little shop on the corner of East and Brooke. Ever since…_It _had happened he'd been frequenting this place. It made him more at ease for some reason to be near quiet people like himself.

A barista was currently standing in front of him, looking worriedly into John's eyes. "Sorry," John murmured, "I must've dozed off. Haven't been sleeping too well lately," John offered a small smile at the young curly-haired man. He hoped the barista couldn't see the lie in his eyes. John was counting on the fact that only the first half had been a lie.

"S'alright, just making sure you're okay," The young man offered a warm smile, his maroon apron stained dark. He had soft brown curls and eyes that were a murky reddish brown. Judging by the stubble and slight bags under his eyes, John guessed the boy was probably in college.

"What's your name?" Though devoid of much emotion, John was the closest he'd come to being sincere with someone since…the accident. He found himself curious, interested, something he hadn't been since that day. The fingers began to curl and uncurl again.

"Me? My name's Gabriel, Gabe for short," Gabe's cheeks were red, embarrassed. He must've slipped or something, but John hadn't noticed. The sliver lining to him, the grey cloud, was that you could slip up in conversation, but he'd never notice. He'd never even find it in him to care even if he had.

John could feel himself slipping under again, could feel the emotions seeping away. For months now he'd only been able to scratch under the surface. Every day he'd sit in his flat, alone, staring at the walls. On occasion he'd walk around outside, anywhere and everywhere. Except The Hospital. He made sure his path never crossed there, never crossed the stained sidewalk no one could quite get to be erased.

Sometimes Molly would invite him out to lunch, or even Lestrade. He'd tried visiting Mrs. Hudson a few times, but it was always too awkward. They were both tiptoeing around the one subject he could no longer bear.

"That's…that's a nice name. My…my name's John, John Watson. But you already knew that." He looked at Gabriel through dead eyes, "I- I have an appointment I should be getting to. Have a nice day."

The voice was monotone, and he was unaware of the concern in Gabe's gaze. "Goodbye, John."

John halted.

He blinked as memories of that day came crashing down, memories he worked hard to lay to rest.

He needed to get out of here.

John's legs were suddenly moving, hurrying to get out of the shop. He didn't run, he wasn't all that able to anymore. He sprinted instead, using brick walls of shops and apartments to support himself.

John ended up in a dimly lit alleyway, the sun blocked from view and the noise echoing but silent. He sank to his knees, his forehead against the dusty wall.

_I don't have friends. Just one. _

_Don't make people into heroes John. Heroes don't exist and if they did I wouldn't be one of them. _

_I'm a fake. _

_The newspapers were right all along. _

_Nobody could be that clever. _

_Goodbye John. _

"Stop…stop," John sobbed against the wall. "I don't want to see it. I don't want to!"

If anyone had heard him, they'd think he was a child. Much like most of his life for the past eight months, he did not care. What was left to care for when you'd already lost everything?

John knew he sounded crazy, sounded like a heartbroken lover. Never having had his heart broken before he could only guess that this was what it felt like. Only John Watson hadn't lost a soul mate, he'd lost a best friend. The only friend.

The principle remained the same; the only difference between John and a heartbroken man was that John hadn't lost a lover. Despite this he'd still been given something, been saved and then had that thing ripped away, gone.

He'd still been left so very, very alone. "Sherlock…"

There. He said it. Sherlock is dead, and I'm so pitifully alone! The phrases danced around in his head, tormenting him as he rested against the dirty alley.

_I don't have friends. Just one. _

John chuckled darkly as he clenched his fist. **_Yeah? Well I've got _****none. **

Days later John had been sitting in his usual window seat at the café. He found himself talking to Gabriel more and more, becoming happier each time. It wasn't really happiness, John knew that. Maybe it was the ghost of what it once was. Either way John felt a little less empty.

He'd learned that Gabe had come here to visit his cousin and fallen in love with the place. He'd enrolled at a university and had been studying there since. Originally he'd been from America, as his parents had moved there when he was very young. He didn't exactly know the whole story, but John knew enough about him to guess that they'd probably divorced when he was younger also. He rarely talked about his father.

John had also learnt that Gabe shared a flat with his friend Marissa. He'd never met the girl but the way Gabe talked about her, John could've sworn he'd known her for years.

Today he was picking at a muffin, sipping his tea thoughtfully. It was one of his worse days, where he couldn't find it in himself to pretend to be happy for the sake of others. Molly was always worrying about him, staring with a frown every time they met. Though she'd yet to see his progress, if she'd come across him today she'd see the same things she had for the past few months.

"John? Uh…John?" John finally looked up, trying to think of an excuse not to talk. He paused when he saw the young man's face though, confused. "John."

"Gabe? What's wrong?" His brow furrowed and his fingers curled and uncurled automatically. Gabriel seemed to be in a daze, blinking at John through glazed eyes, "Are you alright?"

"Someone…" he cleared his throat. "Someone's asking for you over there; a woman. A Miss…" he paused, trying to remember correctly, "Adler."

John stared. "That's not possible."

"John, please. There's a woman attracting attention over there and I think it might give Old Man Murray a heart attack. Just go see," John slowly lifted himself from the chair. The only Miss Adler he knew was dead. It had to be someone else.

It had to be.

Except…

John stood in front of the woman's table and she smiled at him, a predatory smile but a smile nonetheless. His mouth hung open. Finally he choked out, "Irene."

The dominatrix's smile widened, became sharper. "Doctor Watson," she purred, "It's good to see you again."


End file.
